Hoping

Dear readers, I'm going to let you in on a little secret of life:

It really sucks sometimes.
There are days where things really just don't go our way. It can be big things: You flunk the test, you break your arm, you drop a vat of syrup on the floor and ruin your favorite skateboard.
Or it could be a little thing: you broke your pencil, you bent a fingernail, you just got halfway through your favorite video game and a stupid boss killed you so you have to start all over which will take you a good hour or so ( wait, maybe that should be in the "big thing" category)... the list goes on and on.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not here to whine and complain. This blog is not a venting outlet. I'm simply stating a fact of existence.
Now, that being said, what can we do about it?
Well, there's two ways of dealing with the suckingness of our time on this sinful little planet.

1. We can embrace it with negativity

Okay. Just saying right now, I'm not going to spend precious paragraphs of my time bashing negativity. The fact is, I know quite a few people who say "the glass is half empty" and enjoy their lives very much (*coughcoughMarkcoughcough*). I might not understand their point of view, but I respect it. If they want to rain on their own parade, who am I to say they can't? It's their parade after all. I probably wouldn't appreciate them saturating on my celebrations, but if they did I would acknowledge their opinion and stick with my own. As long as being gloomy about things floats your boat and doesn't drastically negate your spiritual growth, I'm all for it. But just remember to bring an umbrella next time you go outside.

2. We can embrace it with positivity

To be honest, I think hope is a beautiful thing. ( If your first name is Hope and you happen to be reading this, that means you too. In a no-homo way.) I love movie characters who show exceptional resilience to bad circumstances. Take Harvey Dent, for example. Sure, Sure, he ended up losing his marbles and turning into a villain. But still. I think he had a lot of good things to say before the Joker got to him.

"The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming."

I've definitely been through my share of junk. There have been times where I've just wanted to curl up in a ball and self-destruct. But in retrospect, I've been so blessed. I have amazing friends, a good family, a lovely Playstation 2 console who loves me unconditionally, and a God who never gives up on me.

Wow. Now that I think about it, playing PS2 far outweighs the perks of self-destruction.

In closing, I just want to remind you all, in the words of Ignitus from the Legend of Spyro trilogy, "Even in the darkest of times, there is always hope."

There will always be a light to hang on to. Maybe you can't always see it, but even the knowledge that ultraviolet light simply exists can be comforting.

“Never let go of hope. One day you will see that it all has finally come together. What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself... 'How did I get through all of that?”

Ad astra per aspera.

~Caroline

"It's not who you are inside, it's what you do that defines who you are. "

I grew up on fantasy adventure stories. Redwall was always one of my favorites, but I also liked stories about King Arthur or Robin Hood or Narnia. Anything full of sword fights and sinister villians, action and magic, trickery and saviors, damsels in distress and their brave knights. All of these stories has a hero. Martin the Warrior from Redwall, King Arthur and Robin from their respective stories, Aslan and the children from Narnia, so on and so forth.
But what really is a hero?
All I know for sure is that I want to be one. When I was little I wanted to be a brave sword fighter, a upright mercenary, a mysterious do-gooder. Although that still definitely appeals to me, I want to be a hero in the world I live in right now. I try, but I don't know how most of the time. You hear stories about brave individuals, such as the firemen who helped save people in 9/11 at the cost of their own lives, or the pilot that landed the plane on the river, saving all the passengers. But most of the time those opportunities don't present themselves to people. I want to be a hero every day of my life. I want to make a difference to people around me, I want to be their hero.
~Not Caroline

"Nothing is more necessary than the unnecessary. "

In sad stories, it is always raining. When true love walks away, when the best friend dies. . . it is always raining. Sometimes it pours, sometimes just drips, but it always, always, rains.

Drip, drip, drip. She felt the raindrops, one at a time, hitting her upturned face. They rolled down, drip, drip, drip onto the pavement. Or were they tears? So cliché. She looked down. It was raining harder now. Because. . .it was right. Or wrong.
Everything seemed wrong. It wasn't, not really, but it seemed like it. Some things were indeed wrong though. Betrayal and hate. Those were wrong. She coughed. She was guilty of both. So were they. Her friends. It's always friends, isn't it? Maybe not, but it seemed so. She smiled; a small, sarcastic smile. How typical. A teenage girl, a love triangle, anger. So typical, but so awful.

If only, if only . . .

That night she dreamed. Screaming faces. Multitudes of screaming faces. She ran away, tripping, just to fall over a cliff. She could see HER above the cliff, laughing. I . . . I'm not me? She was confused. Oh, no, of course not. She was . . . the other one. It all made sense. But this was all wrong. SHE wouldn't laugh, not like that, no no no NO!
She jerked awake. It was late, very late. A car drove by in the street. She stood up and went to the window. A few pale streetlights were on, illuminating the wet pavement. Small sounds could be heard in the distance, but only just. Her breath fogged up the window pane as she pressed her hands to its cold surface. She leaned her head on it and closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged, and she almost stopped altogether. Tears welled up in her eyes. How will this ever end?
~Not Caroline

Tempus

“It is a paradox that every dictator has climbed to power on the ladder of free speech. Immediately on attaining power each dictator has suppressed all free speech except his own.” ~ Herbert Hoover

Contrary to what you might be thinking, I am not writing a blog on dictators. In fact, this post is not government related at all. It’s actually a post on paradoxes, time travel, and all that jolly-flipping rot.
Now at this point, you might be thinking:
“Oh boy, she’s been watching Doctor Who or something.” *facepalm*
If something remotely similar to this crossed your mind, you have my congratulations. Help yourself to a cookie.
Yep. I have been watching Doctor Who. And I’ve been enjoying it immensely.
The episode which struck me as particularly fascinating was Episode 163, “Father’s Day”. To summarize what happens, the Doctor and his companion Rose go back in time to the day her father dies. Through many mishaps, Rose accidentally triggers multiple time paradoxes not only by saving her father from his death, but also by coming in contact with the infant version of herself.
That last paradox was what struck me the most. To me, that is a simply mind-boggling concept: the same individual from separate time segments meeting and creating a completely different reality.
Yesterday, I was looking through an old photo album. Among the countless embarrassing baby photos and family vacation mug shots, I found a few pictures from a field trip to New York City when I was about nine years old.
“Okay,” you say. “It’s a field trip. What’s the big deal?”
When I looked at the photographs, it occurred to me that I took very similar pictures when I visited New York City just recently. The photos were similar in the fact that they were taken in almost exactly the same spot, but different in the fact that I am now six years older.
I wonder what was going through my mind at the time the original photos were taken.
I wonder…if the Me from back then saw the Me that I am now…
What would she think?
In my mind, looking at old photographs of yourself or of other people is like going through time. You are—in a way—interacting with that person; you see that individual and wonder what was going through their thoughts at the time.
I think that the next time I have my picture taken, I’m going to try to smile a little more genuinely. I’m going to try to convey to the viewers of that photograph that even though I have no idea who they are or what their circumstance is, I wish them well.
And who knows; maybe in a few years I’ll look back on that photo and remember what really was going on in my head. Maybe I’ll recollect this passing nod of affirmation and feel a bit more connected to the past.
That’s almost a paradox, isn’t it?
Ad astra per aspera.
~Caroline

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We are tonight's entertainment!”

Oh. Hello there. You seem to be taking an interest in the words I am typing. Thank you for your time and attention. I shall utilize them both to the best of my abilities. As this is the beginning of a journey we might be taking together, I suspect I ought to make a proper introduction. I will be brief, concise, and brutally honest.
My name is Caroline. I prefer fantasy to reality. Love is what I live for. And sushi is beast.
Welcome to BigMechaBoom. Enjoy your stay, if you desire to linger. A pleasant journey home, if you decide to flee. The choice is yours.

Unlike the previous writer, I shall be wordy and beat around the bush. My name is not Caroline, but I do prefer fantasy to reality. I don't live for love, but I love to live. Sushi is most certainly beast.
Kangaroos are our mascot. We are indeed a Kangaroo Syndicate. Unlike Caroline, I won't wish you a pleasant journey if you leave, but I'll wish you a pleasant stay if you chose that. Which makes the choice an obvious one, doesn't it?